Wander 1 | Into Drifting White
The day started just right: cloudy, slightly snowy, with barely a breeze. I had one goal in mind: get some drone-flying practice in before heading to work later. I grabbed my gear and headed out towards an area where flying is allowed (quick reminder: don’t fly near bird cliffs, in restricted areas, or bother wildlife).
A helicopter drill grounded those plans before I could even take off. With a heavy backpack and no spikes underfoot, the slopes demanded a bit more attention than expected. The abandoned drone session turned into a long detour through fresh animal tracks instead. Even once airborne, technical warnings kept the flight short.
The valley was crossed with reindeer tracks first, then dense clusters of ptarmigan footprints scattered across wind-blown snow. Further on, Arctic fox tracks appeared alone, well away from the bird clusters.
By midday, it was time to return to town, reset gear and prepare for the afternoon’s guided hike. By then, I had already walked 18 kilometres. The wandering part of the day ended quickly once guiding hours began.
In the afternoon, I picked up my guests and we headed toward the Global Seed Vault.
The group moved through the landscape photographing everything, speaking mostly in Chinese, leaving smiles and gestures as our common language for most of the hike.
When we got to the starting point of our hike, things had changed. The peak had vanished into fog, and light was flat, making it hard to read the terrain. The wind was picking up, and snow was already sweeping over the old tracks.
We reached the small flat below the final climb and immediately noticed the visibility changing. The wind had become steadier and stronger, though the ridge still felt safe to continue.
The slope steepened, and the pace dropped almost immediately. I was opening the track in ankle-deep snow at the ridge with no poles as increasing wind gusts began catching the backpack broadside. My guests were equipped with poles and spikes, as I had already anticipated some tricky conditions up top. Giving them poles had been the right decision. They planted them hard into the ridge whenever stronger gusts swept across us. Each movement through the powder sent spirals of snow back into the air around the group.
The mountain opened and closed around us in cycles of drifting white. Breaking steps became increasingly demanding as the powder deepened, but only a few meters remained between us and the false summit. Once there, the wind became constant. Strong gusts swept across the ridge without warning. We continued to the summit, signed the tour book, took a few quick photographs, and began descending toward the shelter of the surrounding mountains. Reaching the summit is only half the work on icy, snowy, wind-swept ridges.
A brief moment from the descent once visibility improved.
Blomsterdalshøgda had nothing to resemble its name that day.
The guests disappeared into snowdrift spirals whenever the gusts swept across the ridge. They had been instructed how to safely descend, and they mastered it. They carried the unmistakable satisfaction of having earned the summit, though fatigue and cold had clearly settled in. Warm solbærtoddy and a few cookies shifted the mood quickly.
By the end of the day, I had covered more than 25 kilometres on foot.
